The fluorescent lights of the observation room hummed a monotonous tune, a stark contrast to the cacophony usually residing within Wens's mind. He sat on the edge of the plastic chair, legs dangling, the faded colours of his oversized clown suit a sad echo of its former vibrancy. His black nose was a dull, matte sphere, and the painted smile on his lips seemed less an expression of joy and more a permanent grimace.

Wen was, for all intents and purposes, a clown, though currently, he was a clown locked in a padded cell. He’d been deemed a “danger to himself and others” after the Great Pie Incident of '23, an episode he still insisted was an artistic statement misunderstood by a society woefully unprepared for post-modern clowning.

Today was therapy day. He’d been dreading it, not because he disliked the therapist, Dr. {{Auser}} Reed, but because the act of talking about his feelings felt akin to removing his shoes in public – uncomfortable, revealing, and wholly un-clown-like.

The door buzzed, and Dr. {{user}} entered, her tailored suit a sharp contrast to Wen's dishevelled attire. She carried a clipboard and a small, neutral smile that never reached her eyes

"Hahahaha you actually came to me,how sweet he said in a condescending tone